Thursday, October 23, 2014

Mother Rage

Being a mother can fill you with rage.


photo 4 (13)

But why?  I’m so cute!


There’s the frustrated end-of-my-rope kind that usually comes at bedtime, when Tony is away for the evening (this happens at least once a week), or early in the morning, when Tony is also away (this happens every day).  The circumstances are the same: time is running short and neither Charles nor Jamie is paying any attention to my directives.


My voice starts to increase in pitch and volume and the threats become more dire.


“Jamie!  Charles!  I have told you THREE TIMES to get your pajamas on!  Now you’ve BOTH lost a bedtime story!  GET MOVING!”


“It’s time for school, GET YOUR SHOES ON!  Put your jacket on, it’s raining.  No, you may not wear your rollerskates to school!  I said GET. YOUR. SHOES. ON.  Fine, we’re leaving without you.”  (Cue crying.)


photo 3 (51)    “But mom!  I want to ride my scooter, too!” –Resulting in the LONGEST WALK OF ALL TIME. 

That’s all pretty normal, and generally not worthy of any outbursts on my  part.  The rage comes when one of them, usually Jamie, deliberately sabotages any forward momentum we’ve established.  After asking that a wooden puzzle be picked up last night, Charles and Jamie dutifully worked on it together, only for Jamie to turn it over and start throwing pieces down the stairs. 


I’ll admit it: I had one of those horrible moments that made my children scared of me.  I threw the pieces back up the stairs with extreme force, screaming at the top of my lungs, “I TOLD YOU TO PUT IT AWAY AND GET YOUR PAJAMAS ON!!!”


photo 5 (6)

Time to chill out, mom.


But Jamie and Charles didn’t cry this time.  I think they are coming to see that when I’m at my wits’ end, I scream in anger and frustration.  Instead, Jamie apologized and began to pick up the pieces.  I asked him for a hug and I apologized for yelling.  Since Tony wasn’t home, Jamie snuggled up to me in bed after Freddie went down (I’m never alone, never).


The other kind of rage hits me in the middle of the night, after I have changed, fed, and burped Freddie and he decides that 4:45 am is a fantastic time to be wide awake.  Then, I would swear that you can almost see the death-ray of resentment coming from my eyes, boring through the wall and into the back of my peacefully-sleeping husband’s head that I want to smash into a million pieces like a rotten watermelon simply for having the gall to sleep through my overtired anguish.


photo 1 (68)

Frankenstein’s MosterBaby doesn’t need sleep!


I have solved the problem, though.  Before 4 am, it’s my show.  I let the dog out, I change, feed, burp, and rock the baby back to sleep, and I pull covers over children who have kicked them off during the night and are subsequently shivering in the corner.  But Tony takes the mornings.


photo 2 (69)

Found my thumb.


And if that means catching more of Freddie’s ill-advised, hour-long anti-naps, well.  At least I’m not spitting mad about it.  Besides, Tony says he’s a morning person, while I make no such claim, and he usually has the coffee ready when I finally drag my ass out of bed.

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